


Winter has come

by ramsaycutofftheonspeen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsaycutofftheonspeen/pseuds/ramsaycutofftheonspeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Stannis conquers Winterfell, kills Ramsay Bolton and becomes the King in the North. Theon is executed for treason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter has come

He was cold.  
The ruins of Winterfell were covered with fresh white snow which was hiding the misery and silent desperation that lived in the castle walls since the time he had conquered the castle. It was him, Theon Greyjoy, who had done that. He realized it now, he knew what he had done and he felt the heavy pressure of guilt. Theon Greyjoy, that was his real name – he was no Turncloak, no Prince of Winterfell, no Reek.  
He shuddered at the thought of Reek – Reek lived in his body, used his brain to think and made his blood flow through Theon’s veins. But that time was gone now. Ramsay Bolton was dead. His former master, man who made him crawl on the floor and beg for the mercy of cutting off his finger, had gone from this world. They said that the new King in the North, Stannis Baratheon, had put his head on the spike. He had not seen it, but sometimes he imagined how crows were feasting on that ugly evil grin.  
He felt someone’s finger poking his ribs. He turned his head and saw a dull face of one of Stannis’s soldiers.  
„Move,“ he ordered and pointed with his gloved hand at the pyre. Theon gulped and with all the strenght that was left in him started to walk toward the horrifying place. The cold wind was blowing through the empty halls of what was left of Winterfell and a strange noise echoed through the place. It sounded like howling of wolves, but he had known that there were no wolves around the castle – the cruel cold would have already killed them. He shivered but he wasn’t sure whether it was the cold or he thought that the howling might be howling of the lost Stark children.  
He had their faces in front of his eyes. He wanted to reach out his hand to touch the warm meat of their faces, but he knew that they were only phantoms now. He had no idea what had happened to them, but there was a little of hope in him that they had survived. But the winter was the time of wolves, the time of Starks, and who should survive it if not them?  
He heard a voice. He looked around but saw no one who could possibly talk to him. Only a crow flew around his head and seated herself on the top of the pyre. The crow looked at him with a piercing eye and he had to look down – he could not bear her chastising look.  
„Theon…,“ he heard it again. He did not look up this time, he proceeded to walk toward his death with his shivering skinny legs. It still hurt – his missing toes still burned everytime he took a step. But he was used to much worse pain, and he knew that nothing could bring as much pain as Ramsay’s knives. But he was dead. Ramsay Bolton was dead.  
„Theon…Winter has come.“  
Bran? The voice was so clear he could not ignore it. The cold was now not just all around him, but as well inside of him. He felt it in his head, his body, his heart.  
He was now at the foot of the pyre. The soldier grabbed him by the shoulders and started to tie him up to the frozen wood. Theon was too weak to resist. He could barely move and in this frozen world he welcomed the flames that would soon start to burn his flesh. His life meant nothing to him – he was just an empty shell, the only thing that was filling him up were his memories – memories of all the awful things he had done. His whole life was a mistake he could not take back. He saw it now – he saw it and his rotten soul was screaming in agony.  
„Winter has come…But the song of ice and fire is yet to be sung,“ were the last words he had heard. The flames started to reach up his ankles and as if in the distance, he could hear the singing of Melisandre and howling of wind.  
And his name was Theon Greyjoy.


End file.
